


My Pretty Boy | Michael Langdon X Reader

by ave_michael



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Touch-Starved, boys in makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 19:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16838911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ave_michael/pseuds/ave_michael
Summary: Just a fluffy blurb in which Michael lets you do his makeup.





	My Pretty Boy | Michael Langdon X Reader

“I’m almost finished.”

“No rush,” Michael replied. He was sitting at the foot of Y/N’s bed, watching her as she did her makeup at the vanity in the corner of her room. 

As she finished her lipstick, Y/N caught Michael’s eye in the mirror. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What?”

“Come here,” she said, coming over and taking him by the hand.

“No,” he moaned as she dragged him from the bed. “I’ll look stupid.”

“ _Michael_.” Y/N gave him a skeptical look and plopped him down into the chair. “That’s not even possible.”

Despite his protests, Michael relented to Y/N’s attentions. He relaxed at the first touch of her hands, as she ran her fingers through his long hair to gather it away from his face. She pulled the hair elastic from her wrist and secured his hair in a loose bun at the nape of his neck. 

When she stepped back and crossed her arms, considering his face, he wished that she hadn’t stopped. He had never thought that he would like having someone touch his hair, but with her, it was different. Everything was different. He could spend hours letting her play with his hair, twining her fingers through the blonde waves. But he could never bring himself to ask her for it directly.

Instead, he teased her: “Is that it?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “No,” she said. “I was making my plan.”

She stood in front of the mirror, so he couldn’t see what she was doing. He surrendered himself to her, doing whatever she told him to do: Look up. Look down. Close his eyes. He crinkled his nose when the tiny brushes tickled, making her giggle, a gorgeous sound. 

It all felt so good, each gentle touch. When she allowed him to have his eyes open, he watched the look of deep concentration on her face. How nice it was, he thought, to have someone focus on him like that.

“There,” she said, after awhile, screwing the mascara wand back into the tube and setting it aside. “I think you’re done.”

She walked around behind him to undo his bun. He regarded his reflection as she fluffed his hair out and spread it over his shoulders. He didn’t look that different, he thought, just more. Darker lashes, and she had done something to his eyebrows, defined them. And she had added artful smudges of red eyeshadow to the inner corners of his eyelids, making the blue of his eyes stand out in sharp contrast.

“What do you think?” she asked. She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck from behind, and he reached up to hold her hands in his.

“I think I like it. Am I pretty?” he joked.

“Always.” She smiled at him in the mirror. “My pretty boy.”

“It’s just--”

“What?”

“Nothing on my lips?” He smirked, craning his head back to look at her.

“Well, not quite,” she said, and leaned down to give him a kiss.


End file.
